


Childish Things

by louciferish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Compliant, Dolls, Established Relationship, Horror, In The Dark Of Night | yoihorrorzine, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 05:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: When the first boxes arrived from Japan, Victor had a list of items he hoped to find within: baby pictures, for example, or maybe home video of Yuuri’s novice programs, or evenYuuri’s costumes from Juniors. One thing he certainly did not expect to uncover was little Yuuri himself.





	Childish Things

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 日本語 available: [いとけなきもの ～Childish Things～](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25346182) by [mioh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mioh/pseuds/mioh)

> This story, written for the YOI Horror Zine project, is loosely based on the true story of [Robert the Doll](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_\(doll\)), so check that out after if you dare ;)
> 
> 1000 thanks to [Morgen](https://www.instagram.com/huore.art/) for their incredible art, and to [littorella](https://twitter.com/Alli_Littorella), who did a wonderful job of betaing this thing, and to all the participants and supporters of In the Dark of Night. You rock!

When the first boxes arrived from Japan, Victor had a list of items he hoped to find within: baby pictures, for example, or maybe home video of Yuuri’s novice programs, or even _Yuuri’s costumes from Juniors_. One thing he certainly did not expect to uncover was little Yuuri himself.

It was an an incredibly good likeness, with rounded plastic cheeks, a soft, sturdy little body, and a mop of silky black hair. Victor might have mistaken it for a real toddler in another context, if not for the eyes—wide, lifeless brown marbles which starred up from the box, reflecting Victor’s own face back at him. 

Victor lifted the doll out of his cardboard cradle and held it up to the light, admiring the familiar bright yellow sweater it wore, emblazoned with the letter K. 

“Hello,” Victor cooed, turning the doll to wave his plastic hand at Yuuri from across the room. “Who is this handsome fellow?”

Yuuri looked up from the box he was sorting through, and his mouth fell open when he saw what Victor held. “Katsuki-san,” he gasped, and scrambled across the floor on his hands and knees for a closer look.

Victor chuckled at the formal name for the little doll, watching as Yuuri reached out to trace the stubby plastic fingers, still wide-eyed and almost reverent.

“He looks a lot like you. Was he custom made?”

Yuuri nodded and scooped the doll up in his arms, running his hands over it as if checking for damage. “A friend of my grandmother’s had him made for me, as a birthday gift. I used to take him everywhere as a kid. I even took him skating.” He frowned. “Nishigori teased me for that a lot.”

“Was that what made you put him away?” Victor dug back into the box for more treasures, but there wasn’t much left at the bottom—a few scraps of fabric and paper, and, bizarrely, a headless Barbie doll. 

“I actually thought he was destroyed,” Yuuri murmured, and Victor had to look up at the odd phrasing of that. Yuuri was still turning the doll over and over in his hands. When he saw Victor watching, he stopped, shrugging. “Mari must have been playing a joke on me. She probably thought I was too old for a doll.”

Victor stood and dusted his hands off on his pants before reaching out for the doll. Yuuri handed it over, and Victor swung it onto his hip, jiggling it like a babushka calming a fussy baby.

“Well, Katsuki,” he intoned, gesturing to the living room—neat and tidy aside from the sprawl of boxes and poodle. “I know it’s not the type of house you’re used to, but this is Yuuri’s home now, and that means it’s your home too!”

He placed the doll carefully in a spare chair by the kitchen, propping it up so it looked almost like a real child, legs dangling over the edge of the seat. 

“Welcome home.” 

He was still looking at the doll, but as warm arms encircled his waist, pulling Victor back into his fiance’s embrace, he knew the message had reached its true target.

Victor was struggling with heavy grocery bags as he returned to the apartment the next afternoon, shifting them to one arm in order to fit his key in the lock. With a few soft curses for lubrication, the latch gave, and the door swung open.

Makkachin waited for him inside, as usual, but her odd appearance made Victor stop. Her tail and head were hung low and she trembled, whining softly. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Makka couldn’t answer, of course, and fear seized Victor’s chest. Where was Yuuri?

He brushed past the dog, not even stopping to set the groceries down, and hurried into the living room. 

Yuuri was still stretched out on the sofa, exactly where Victor left him. His dark hair spilled artfully across the pillow, and his sweet lips were parted in sleep. One arm was curled around, spooning the plush body of Katsuki close to his chest, and Victor let out his breath in a rush at the sight. 

There was no danger, then, except the risk that Victor might perish of cuteness.

He dragged the groceries into the kitchen, dumped the bags on the counter, and then returned to snap a quick shot of his sleeping prince for Instagram. 

Makka trailed him into the kitchen, her tail just beginning to wag.

“Makka,” Victor cooed as he put the groceries away. “Silly old girl. Were you jealous Yuuri wasn’t napping with you today?” 

She wagged her tail a little in response, and Victor bent down to scratch her head. 

He was in the middle of putting away the last package of chicken breast when his phone began to buzz in his pocket. His eyebrows shot up as he pulled it out to see Mari’s name on the screen. 

Mari texting him was unusual, to put it mildly. He opened the message, hoping nothing was wrong at home.

There was a screenshot of his Instagram photo at the top of the thread.

**Mari:** Where did you get that?

What? Oh. The doll.

**Victor:** It was in the boxes that Mama sent. Yuuri mentioned you thought it was broken.

His phone vibrated in his hand as soon as he hit send.

**Mari:** It was.

**Victor:** ????

Silence. Victor waited, watching the screen for a response, but nothing came through. He heard a rustle in the next room, the tell-tale signal that his Yuuri was waking, and he pushed the confusing texts out of his mind. 

It was only hours later, after the two of them were in bed, fingers and legs entwined, that Victor’s screen lit up once more on the bedside table.

**Mari:** It’s probably nothing. Call me if anything strange happens.

-

When Victor’s alarm went off that weekend, he reached out, fumbling through the sheets for Yuuri’s warmth. It wasn’t all that unusual to find the other half of the bed already cold, but when Victor stretched, rolling his neck, his toes bumped up against the solid heat of Makkachin, who was still curled at his feet.

He sat up, and Makka thumped her tail on the bed in greeting. 

“Good morning, girl. Where’s Yuuri?” That was odd, waking up to find Makka, but no Yuuri. Usually she followed whoever left the bedroom first. 

Victor slid out of bed, then paused to stretch on his toes. He still noticed the little snaps and cracks as his joints adjusted, but they were becoming routine. Makkachin hopped down off the bed as he rolled his neck, padding over to join him.

With the bedroom door open, he could hear Yuuri’s voice in the living room, whispering in Japanese. After a moment, someone responded in kind. The voice was too low to be intelligible, harsh and hissing. Victor stopped, blood turned to ice at the strange sound. He didn’t know who Yuuri was talking to, and for some reason that made Victor’s stomach churn with unease.

Victor went to the bathroom, trying to shake off the unfurling dread. He could have sworn he’d never heard a voice like that before, couldn’t match it with a family member. He grasped for explanation. Yuuri must have gotten up early in order to Skype home, that was all. Maybe the Nishigori triplets were over. Didn’t Axel say she wanted to take voice lessons? 

Victor stepped out into the living room in his towel a few minutes later, steeling himself for an enthusiastic Katsuki family greeting. Instead, he found Yuuri curled up on the sofa, still in his boxers and a soft grey tee. He had dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept at all, and a book propped up on the arm of the couch. The doll was perched on his lap like a child reading a bedtime story. 

“Good morning,” Victor called out, pressing a kiss the top of Yuuri’s head as he passed on his way to the kitchen. “Did I miss the call home?”

“What call?” Yuuri asked. 

As he put on the kettle for tea, Victor spotted Yuuri’s laptop, still plugged in on the kitchen counter, right where Victor left it last night.

-

“Please, Yuuri, just tell me what’s wrong!”

“I already told you. Nothing is wrong,” Yuuri snapped. His voice was brittle, and it made Victor’s chest ache to see him this way. They’d only been living together a couple months, but Victor knew him well enough to see that Yuuri looked worn in the shadowed living room, pale and thin even by competition season standards. Despite his heated words, his eyes were dull and rimmed with deep, shadowed bags. “Don’t make up excuses for me. You’ve made it perfectly clear that bronze isn’t good enough for Victor Nikiforov.”

“Yuuri, you know that’s not true!” The medal was wonderful. After the way Yuuri had competed, it was even unexpected, but that image of Yuuri on the podium couldn’t erase the limp, listless performance he’d given from Victor’s mind.

Without another word, Yuuri stormed into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Makka whined, the electricity of conflict making her anxious. Victor tried to breathe, pushing the tension from his body, before kneeling down to scratch her head. 

“Don’t worry, girl,” he whispered. “I’ll fix it, okay?” Makka’s tail flopped twice in response, and he decided to take it as a good omen.

Rising from the floor, he followed Yuuri into their bedroom.

His Yuuri stood at the side of their bed, facing away from the door as Victor approached with caution to wind an arm around his small waist. Though Yuuri was tense and silent, he didn’t pull away, and Victor pressed his luck, resting his face in the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

“I don’t want to fight,” he murmured, brushing his lips along Yuuri’s hairline, just below his ear. “I worry when I wake up and find you already out of bed so often. I need to make sure you’re feeling well, not only as your coach, but as your fiance.” 

Yuuri’s shoulders relaxed beneath Victor’s chin, and he turned, placing his hand over Victor’s butterfly heart. He still looked too wan in the dim light of the bedroom, but a shy smile graced his lips as he met Victor’s eyes with a hint of his usual spark. “I know,” he whispered, pushing up on his toes to press the words against Victor’s mouth. “I know. I’m sorry.”

There was much more to say. Nothing was solved at all, but it was all too easy for Victor to lose himself in the tempting slide of Yuuri’s mouth beneath his, and the hot clinch of their bodies as Yuuri pressed him back against the wall. 

Victor’s eyes fluttered, his attention captured almost entirely by the _Eros_ in his arms. Over Yuuri’s shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the doll propped among the pillows on their bed. His glassy eyes reflected the setting sun and caught fire. Then Yuuri’s lips found the column of his throat, and Victor lost the thread once more.

-

When Victor woke the next morning, it was to the warmth of sunlight spilling across the sheets from the picture window. He stretched out and was pleasantly surprised when his hand brushed the silk plane of Yuuri’s back. At last, his love was sleeping peacefully again.

After their conflict the night before, Victor wanted nothing more than to gather Yuuri to him and wake his fiance with happy kisses, but he knew that Yuuri needed the sleep. Instead, he tore himself away, sliding from his side of the bed with care not to jostle the mattress. He grabbed his robe from where it draped across the back of a chair and shrugged it on.

A strange sound made him pause, listening. The noise came again from the bed, a low cross between a whisper and a sob. Alarmed, Victor spun to check on Yuuri.

In sleep, Yuuri was not peaceful. His brow was furrowed, and his face contorted in something almost pained. Katsuki was cradled in his arms, the doll’s painted plastic cheek pressed against Yuuri’s ear as he dreamed.

Without stopping to question himself, Victor reached for the doll and began to extricate it from Yuuri’s grasp. As he lifted Yuuri’s hand away, his love stirred, murmuring to himself, but he didn’t wake, and Victor slowly pulled the doll free. 

Yuuri’s face cleared, the frown lines smoothed away by sleep once more, and Victor smiled. Now, maybe Yuuri would get the rest he needed. 

Victor looked down at the doll dangling from his hand. On impulse, he opened the closet and dropped Katsuki onto the floor. He saw the soft body slump back into the shadows and shut the door before heading to the bathroom to prepare for the day.

Once he arrived at the rink, concerns of the morning quickly melted away, replaced by thoughts of quad combos and Yurio’s newest, monstrous free skate. Yuuri texted during one of Victor’s breaks, letting him know that he’d be going to the gym, so Victor was hopeful that he felt better after a full night’s sleep.

He hummed to himself as he fit his key in the lock. There had been a song in his head the whole way back, sweet and lilting, and it was fast turning into a contender for his next short program—the warmth of constant love.

The door swung open, and Victor stopped. His equipment bag crashed to the floor. 

The apartment was ransacked.

Mounds of white stuffing littered the floor like clumps of snow, spilling forth from huge, jagged shreds cut in the covering of the couch. Sunlight glinted off shards of glass, where photos of Victor and Yuuri had fallen from the bookcases, the frames shattered.

Makka’s back legs were the only thing visible, trembling beneath the edge of the sofa, and he could hear her crying from the doorway, a jumbled rumbling sound like a growl edged with a whine. Victor picked his way across the living room, careful of the broken glass. He reached out to pet Makka’s rump, cooing to her, only to feel the dog flinch beneath his hand.

“Makka, girl, you know I’d never hurt you,” he whispered, stroking her soft fur. “It’s okay. You can come out.” He looked up at the mess around them again and sighed. How could she have even done all of this, and better yet— _why? _

When she still wouldn’t emerge from her hiding place, Victor began to worry. Could she have cut herself on the glass? He stood, searching the hardwood floor for splashes of red. Instead, he found himself staring directly into the glassy brown eyes of the doll.

Katsuki was slumped on the couch like a discarded puppet, a pair of open scissors lying on the cushion beside it.

-

Victor’s hands shook as he poured his third glass of vodka and checked the time on the stove again. 1 AM. Close enough. He peered into the bedroom where Yuuri was still sleeping, and the kitchen light flashed off the glass eyes of the doll in his arms.

Mari answered before the second ring, her voice snapping across the distance. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” Victor said. “I can’t even explain, but these little things… The voices, and then Makka, and the scissors, and Yuuri has been—”

“You’re not crazy. Whatever you’ve seen, whatever you’ve heard,” Mari’s lighter clicked, followed by the pause of a deep inhale. “It’s not the first time. As soon as Okaasan gave him that damned doll, Yuuri changed.”

Victor sank onto the couch, his legs no longer willing to hold him. “What do I do?”

“Apparently, don’t bury it,” she muttered. “That’s not good enough. Burn it or rip it apart; I don’t know. Our parents locked it away in a closet and it was on his bed the next day. I buried it in the yard. You’re going to need to destroy it completely.”

-

Victor looked up at the stars and the snow drifting down around him and asked himself how he wound up here. He stood on the frozen bank of the Neva, a hammer in one hand and the dangling body of the doll in the other. 

He dropped the doll onto the ground, and it landed on its back, lifeless black eyes swallowing the faint light from the nearest street lamps. He raised the hammer over it and watched. Deep inside, he hoped for a flinch—some sign that he wasn’t crazy, that this seemingly innocent child’s toy concealed a malicious intent. 

The doll only stared.

Crystalline flakes began to gather on its dark hair and pool in creases across the K on its sweater, calling to mind grainy videos of little Yuuri, toddling out into the snowy yard of the onsen and taking his first tentative steps onto the ice.

Victor lowered the hammer. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t smash that face, molded and painted so carefully to look like his love. 

With a strangled cry, he brought the hammer down instead onto the frozen surface of the river below. He fell to his knees, smashing away the ice until chunks broke free, and he clawed them out with fingers already turning blue from the cold.

The ice cracked and groaned beneath him, and he scrambled back to the safety of the bank. Katsuki’s head flopped back as Victor lifted him once more. He tried not to look at the face again, screwed his eyes closed and pushed, kept pushing until he felt the doll slip below the ice, caught by the current of the Neva. 

By the time he looked back, he could only make out a hint of a pale yellow glow from the sweater as the river carried Katsuki away.

Victor had dressed in a hurry, and his teeth were beginning to chatter, but he wasn’t ready to go straight home. He wrapped his hands up in his scarf and took a meandering route through the well-lit city streets, hoping the beauty of his city by night would drive the shadows from his thoughts. It was only after circling the block for the third time that he realized the only cure to this darkness would be the warmth of the bed he shared with Yuuri.

The apartment was still dark, though false dawn was beginning to gild the edges of the windows as he tiptoed inside. In the bedroom, Yuuri’s form was outlined beneath the sheets where he lay still sleeping on his side, his back to Victor. 

He let out a breath in relief at the sight. He wasn’t looking forward to the questions tomorrow about where the doll had gone, but he’d protected his Yuuri. They would be okay. 

Yuuri was too alluring when he looked so peaceful. Victor didn’t want to wake him, but he couldn’t resist reaching out to fondly stroke his fiance’s hair. 

Beneath his fingertips, the strands were wet and ice cold.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please check out other stories in the zine collection!


End file.
